Iron Heart
by Sutter Finicky
Summary: The Universe is in disarray. As The Clone War wages on, both sides are depleted in resources and are in desperate need of assistance. The eyes of the universe turn to a little planet called Songin, the two waring sides lobby for an alliance that could potentially shift the momentum of the war. (Tons of OCs)


Behind a heavily fortified fences and guards, lay an individual of monumental importance. Though frail, his mere presence on the chessboard is commanding.

Election Day draws near, representative Almon Andrews is reads just internal data and likes what he sees. More than likely, he'll become the next consul of Songin. After forty-years of service he'll finally be in a position of power. Though his hair is thinning and gray, his body frail, his energy rivals those youngest on his staff. Andrews smiles. He looks up to see his staff proud of themselves. Together they've laid the groundwork for substantial change to a decaying system disinterested in helping anyone. Under Andrews the people will surely bond together and unify to one common goal.

A reporter makes her way to visit Andrews. He's forgotten he scheduled an interview weeks beforehand. Something to keep his name in people's minds. She was the opposite of Andrews. Young and strong, she greeted the elder statesman on the cusp of receiving awesome power. The interview went on indistinguishable from all the others. Andrews stressed the importance of workers rights, how it is inhumane to allow people to simply die in the streets from very treatable, but costly diseases. But it was one question that raised the ire of the seasoned Andrews.

"The Galactic Civil War is raging on, many expect it to soon come here. Songin has long been neutral in its history. What will you do if war does come to us?" Andrews truly didn't know. He personally had no use for the republic, because they've marginalized Songin for generations and left them to fend off the Hutts. The C.I.S wasn't his cup of tea either. Too authoritarian and meaningless. But many in the media hammered home the critique of Andrews lacking any knowledge in foreign policy.

"We'll do what's best for Songin and only for Songin." He decided to say, instantly regretting it. But the dye was cast. He'd have to live by his words.

What can one man do to heal a society hellbent on ripping each other to shreds?

There's little doubt who'll be the next leader of Songin. If permitted, Andrews would have already occupied the space held by the outgoing consul. A nice man, though slow to react. Lord Tyranus tried numerous times to establish a dialog, but at every turn he was rebuffed. Songin wished to have no horse in this race and though the current leader made his sympathies to the confederacy known, he simply couldn't muster the necessary support. Tyranus had hoped to entice the lame duck by making him the permanent ruler, in one of the few times he actually received a response the consul declined the generous offer. "If my people do not agree with the path I want to take them on, I will let them choose for themselves where to go." Deep down, the frustrated leader of the confederates respected the principal to which the consul stood by.

"With all due respect," Tyranus replies "Your system is predicated on the idea one merely plays along with your rules and regulations set in place."

"And I will play along."

It did take Tyranus an awful lot of restraint not to break from his typical stoic nature. While he did respect a man of his word, this was war, and to be frank, neither side can claim things have gone well. Both sides are hemorrhaging money, foolishly gambling on an early end to the war. Soon The Clone War became a war of attrition. While the republic lost a significant chunk of their clone army, and have faced hardship since the first year, the C.I.S lacks material goods to keep their droid army from acting as rigid targets for shooting practice.

In short, neither side really had a grasp of how to really win. Some politicians remained delusional and assumed victory was on the horizon. Many hid their pessimism skillfully. Others tried to bring a mutual end to the conflict. But when a recent peace deal reached the table, the C.I.S changed their aims of the war as merely achieving separation from the all mighty republic, to outright conquering it.

Tyranus, under the nose of the current leadership met with another candidate whose chances of victory are slimmer than Andrews. By all accounts, Jones Tilden was a decent man, principled in wanting what's best for his citizens. Tilden loved politics. He looked fresher than a daisy. The few gray hairs on his jet black hair only adds to his excellence. "The years have been kind to you." Tyranus warmly greets Tilden, who smiles and wraps his arms around him. Not used to the affection, Tyranus didn't reciprocate.

"How's your travels?" They exchanged further pleasantries, Tyranus, after multiple attempts, finally managed to steer the conversation to the meat and potatoes of why he's actually here.

"Seems like you're struggling." Tilden shrugs. "Participating in politics is similar to trying to find a light-switch in the dark."

"Especially when you're not promising quick fixes." Tyranus mused. Tilden nods. "But whatever decision the people make I'll have to accept."

"But you know that's not true." Tilden raises an eyebrow. "These rules are merely words written on a piece of paper. The only reason your planet's checks and balances work is because you decide to play along."

"Or risk imprisonment." Tilden replies coldly. "You can't arrest the consul." He proposed. Tilden was beginning to feel amused, the allure of power was quite the temptress.

"You do what needs to be done." Tilden tells him. Tyranus is pleased.

"How is it in only one year of war we are already at the end of our rope?" Senator Bail Organa whined. Only a year ago they were throwing parades for the start of this conflict. "Down with the traitors!" "Long live the republic!" Echoed in the streets from morning to night. Now, those same people are irate their money is going to fund this war they once wanted? But the republic overplayed their hands. Not only did the cost of living go up, the clones proved not so good at securing Alderaan. They were far too aggressive for minuscule offenses committed by the townspeople and didn't grasp the complexities of patrolling a lower rate neighborhood. They were green, to put it bluntly.

Many though, just wanted an escape from this futile existence. What they deemed a "faux-democracy." All Songin possessed was manpower and resources, not much in the way of actual mite to determine their own path against outsiders. Generations of horrible leadership, compounded with the Mandalorians neutering them after their awesome conflict over two centuries prior, the Songos are treated like a prize to be won.

Idealism still grew despite the uninspiring landscape. For the young Kyle Cass, under the exterior of nihilism was the intoxicating belief of hope. Hope better days are on the horizon. For Kyle, society typically leaves his lot behind. Growing up poor and in a rough neighborhood from a young age Kyle's had to take an awful lot of responsibility to support his family. Made up of one sickly foster father, and biological sister. He doesn't know what happened to his parents. Kyle's never spent time pondering it.

The day began as it typically does. The sun shining through the white curtains, directly into the eyes of Kyle. His blond hair was unkempt, his eyes scrunched. He wished for a longer slumber, but knew he couldn't enjoy such luxury. Indeed, it was time to for work. Grabbing his things, Kyle hastily made it out of the door while wolfing down his half-ready breakfast.

Angus didn't have it so easy. The Separatists were advancing and pushed his forces back to their breaking point taking took refuge inside the walls of a Republic Embassy. The C.I.S cut the communication lines. The nearest port is 10 miles away. Battle droids huddled together outside, while some are trying to break through various guarded and makeshift fortified entrances. Angus needed time to figure out a route to the nearest communications port. But time is something he didn't have.

"Those rust buckets can't give us a moment?" He groans, hoping his lighthearted language would untie the nerves of everyone around him. People don't think well when they're nervous, Angus figures. "C'mon, we need something. Any idea will work." The mere fact he was saying this, giving away he himself had little to offer made him feel idiotic. But his brain was at a dead end.

"There's an underground passageway. It was established when this place was built over a century ago. Hasn't been used though. I think it's connected to the planet's sewerage tunnels."

"I feel sorry for those who wore their PrimeDay best." Angus couldn't resist. When his nerves get the best of him, he can't help but make wisecracks.

"Why are we wasting time then?" One of the clone soldiers chimes in. Angus couldn't tell which one. They all looked and talked the same. "Let's get going!" Angus agreed and ordered everyone to follow Captain Drexler's lead. Drexler ordered for no man to be left behind prior to departing. Quite the noble thing to do in the face of danger, even Angus couldn't deny. There's something peculiar about clones. Born from the DNA of a slimy, backstabbing bounty hunter, yet possessing the honor of a Jedi. Guess their teachings have a way of rubbing off of everyone they come in contact with.

They didn't want to risk the C.I.S getting their grubbing fingers on important documents, so they got to work deleting all intel to make the systems dry as a bone before going underground. Angus lead them, Drexler to his side. "I haven't seen you put down that gun all week." Drexler remarks. "When you're in a never ending war you get used to it." He replies. Drexler knows all too well what Angus is getting at.

"Well just make sure you remember those in back of you and not pay all your attention to what's in front." Drexler warns. "Then what good are you?" Angus quips.

Rattling echoes throughout the tunnel causing Angus' heart to skip a beat. Feeling something tap the front of his foot he was able to make out through the little lighting it was a pulse grenade. Before he could tell everyone to get down the blast went off and the force sent him backwards knocking his head against the walls. Before his vision went black all he could hear was the distant sounds of gunfire.

Kyle couldn't make a sale. Was it something with the bags? He made sure to take care of the odor. "Handbags! 10 credits. 15 for the large!" He barks by passersby. Some sneered, frustrated at being subjected to a shakedown so early into the day. Some told him to "shove it"

"Your loss pal!" Kyle retorts. "You know how much stuff I can fit into this thing? Well, you'll never know now!"

"Hey, Kyle." Chester showed up late - as usual to notice business wasn't going to well. "You try getting the point across they might need these bags?" Chester cracks a thick smile that made Kyle's blood boil.

"You mean pretend we're customers? No that's awfully hard to do with one person."

"Well I'm here now, let's role play." Kyle sighs. He hates this trick. It makes him look foolish.

"Good morning, sir." Chester's thick rural accent was replaced by a more cordial tone. Kyle rolls his eyes. They've done this so many times, Chester still plays the same character. "I am a businessman in need of carrying my materials and what not in a bag of some sort. Can you assist me?" He made an effort to speak loud so not a soul couldn't hear him. Didn't mean they couldn't pretend not to hear.

"Yes, of course!" Seeing no other alternative Kyle played along. "See this bag is made from real bantha leather. Real smooth." In actuality, Kyle had little clue where these bags came from. As Chester says, "they fell off a truck."

"These look to be made from the finest material." Chester didn't know the names of any materials used to craft these bags and was too lazy to learn them for the sake of this bit he insists on doing whenever business is slow.

"Why yes it is!" Kyle was unable to withhold his contempt for this bit. "And it's four credits." Chester feigned being blown away at the awesome deal. "My, oh, my! you sir are doing yourself a disservice." Kyle leans in. "Just buy the bag!"

"Pardon me, may I have that bag. I'll pay six credits." One gentleman sauntered over. Kyle was taken aback, but this time pleasantly.

"Yeah, sure." Kyle was just about to ring him up when Chester interjected. "Hold on, I was here first and I deserve to get what I wanted." Kyle clenched his fist.

"But, sir" he grits through his teeth. "We have a ton of handbags for you to look at."

"Yes," Chester takes a moment to observe. "But none like this one. I'll pay you eight credits."

"What?!"

"Ten." The man countered.

"Eleven."

"12"

"15!" Chester bellows from the bottom of his stomach. The man shrugs. "Too rich for blood" before leaving.

"You...you..." Kyle was at a loss for words.

"I know, I just really like this bag." Chester snatches it from Kyle's grasp.

"We have dozens of them in the warehouse!" Kyle reminds him.

"Oh, yeah." It all just dawned on Chester. "Anyways, don't worry I'll get you the full 15 tomorrow." Kyle groans and rubs his forehead. "I have a headache, I'm taking a break."

Typically, Jedi aren't supposed to venture outside of the Jedi Temple on their own accord. Especially if it was to go out. Hassan didn't care. He needed to drink and indulge in various other debauchery. Only fifteen, he had to slyly sneak in drinks. It isn't easy when the bouncer stamps you with a big red X on the back of your pasty white hand. But being a Jedi has its perks. A simple hand motion and an utterance of a command and suddenly age wasn't a problem anymore.

Slow, sensual music blasting on the speakers, patrons, male and female enjoying each other's company either in concert or simply taking it in alone. Hassan was in the latter category. No Jedi. No hassle. Hassan taps his foot and moves his head to the beat enjoying himself. A sudden jolt rushes through him, feeling a hand harshly grabbed his shoulder and turn him around. A sky blue Twi'lek, named Kairi snarls at him. "You shouldn't be outside of the temple." She begins to drag him along despite his loud protests. "You have class tomorrow."

"What are you my mother?" He moans, futility pulling at his arm locked in her vice like grip. "if only I could contact her." Kairi sighs.

"All I want to do is drink and have a good time. Where'd the crime? If you and Ahsoka loosened up once in a while, maybe none of you would be such sticks in the mud."

"If you stopped ogling women out of your league you'd probably be a better Jedi." She retorts.

"That's below the belt, K." He gasps. She shrugs. "Can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen."

"Right, because that's your domain." Kairi took a second to stop and sniff the strong scent of alcohol on his breath. "You idiot."

"And what is that about the kitchen being 'my domain'?"

The next morning, Hassan's head rang constantly. As if a gong was going off. His vision shook, taking every ounce of strength to not hurl. If he could, he'd stay in bed and nurse his modest hangover. But Kairi wasn't about to let him off the hook. She woke up him, dragged him out and brought him to the gymnasium. "I feel like a dead man walking." He remarked groggily.

"Oh, you will be. If you don't shape up." She comments.

"Trust me I function better after a night out. I'm even stronger after a whole night out." Somehow Kairi didn't believe that. "Being hungover is not a superpower." She rebuts. "Of course not, being a Jedi is my superpower."

"Then you better start taking it seriously." They could have gone on like this for hours. But fortunately, for Kairi Master Yoda showed up. Even in the heat of the biggest galactic war in the history of the universe, the elder still found time to mentor the future of the Jedi Order.

"Greetings, young ones."

"Good morning, Master Yoda." The class of teenagers sounded more like children whenever greeting their teacher.

Their class began with breathing exercises, a full scanning of the body. Hassan composed himself, taking one long breath and releasing it steadily through his nose. Master Yoda deemed this a good way to establish focus for his students. "Breathe" he reminds them. "A Jedi must never panic in the face of adversity."

Next, they began to spar. Hassan was tagged to compete in a session against Kairi, ironically. Handed a training lightsaber, unable to server limbs like the real thing, but still provide a blistering burn. Hassan was no match for Kairi even if he was sober. Kairi knocked Hassan down in under a minute, sweeping his legs from under him. "You need to pay more attention." She scolds. Kairi didn't mean it maliciously. But this isn't the first time Hassan's failed to heed her warnings.

"Yeah." Hassan didn't want her help getting up. Slinking to the back of the class to avoid her gaze.

Another day, another credit - or lack thereof, at least for Kyle. Going home empty handed. To make matters worse, the rent on the spot in the flea market Is as due and he didn't have nearly enough to cover the costs. "Hey, son." Grant hands Kyle a field knife. "Cut the harvests for me and bring them in. You could sell what isn't used for dinner tomorrow at the market." Kyle didn't tell him if he didn't have the rent money by tomorrow he wouldn't be allowed back. "Sure"

"You know I might've found a job for one of us."

"You mean for me? You know I don't want you hurting yourself, you have blackened lung, remember? Plus somebody has to stay home with Ariel." Kyle reminds. "What's the job? Hopefully something that won't be taken over by automation in a few months." Kyle's been hopping from job to job for over a year. Always losing his position to drive.

"Vleet is looking for somebody who can deliver packages for him."

"For the post office?"

"I'll tell you after you bring in the corn." Grant yawns, then grimaces, holding his back. "That's what I get for misplacing my back-brace."

"Need help?"

"Oh, no I'm fine. Just bring in the corn."

Kyle works himself into a sweat slashing the rows long branches. It took him an hour to corral them into a bundle and bring them in. They had the ingredients for casserole and Ariel's been wanting it for a couple days. She'll be home soon. Ms. Ira said she'd drop her off today after Ariel spent the weekend at her friend's house.

"So what's the job?" Kyle seen his father gingerly venture down the stairs in his robe clearly readying himself for bed. "Huh? Oh, right! Yeah, go to Miley's tomorrow morning and talk to Vleet."

Ariel walked in, flung her backpack to the ground and rushes to her room. "Another bad day at school?" Kyle asks rhetorically. Grant nods. "You want to talk to her?"

"I'm not much of a talker." Kyle responds. "Me neither." Grant adds. "C'mon she'll probably listen to you." Kyle groans, but relents.

Ariel's never had an easy time fitting in. For whatever reason. Kyle never really knew what her issue was. If there was one. He figured he'll sit at the edge of the bed and let the scraggly red haired girl say her peace. Kids aren't complicated, right?

"Hey sis. Wanna tell me what's wrong?" Ariel hides her face in her pillow. But Kyle doesn't hear sobbing. "A kid called me "'vile '."

"Vile?" Kyle had to flip through his mental dictionary to remember what that even means. "Ah, so I take it your company wasn't welcome on the field trip?" Ariel nods. "They wouldn't let me sit with them for lunch."

"I'm sorry Ariel." Kyle didn't like seeing a little girl so emotional. "I was a kid once, you know." Ariel rolls her eyes. "I was a bit of a jerk myself." That last detail made Ariel perk up and show her face. "I used to pull girls hair or lekku. I'd constantly harass the kids who did better than me in class."

"You did?"

Kyle solemnly nods. It isn't going down an unpleasant road in memory lane. Especially, when the portrayal is unfavorable. "This one time, during art class this kid made this beautiful picture out of elbow macaroni and super glue. Everyone gave him adulation and he looked so sure of himself. When he left the painting unguarded, I ripped it into pieces."

"And then what?" Ariel was intrigued. Even showing her face. There was no red in her cheeks or water in her eyes, now Kyle knows she wasn't crying. Just hurt. "I felt good for a moment. Then I felt bad. Nobody found out. He came back crying and I felt this pit in my stomach."

"You think she feels guilty?" Ariel asks. "Well, probably not. I don't know. Point is, I was an angry child and sought attention. So I acted out. This bully of yours is probably not different. Is this making you feel any better?" He leans in. Ariel shakes her head. "Well... I tried." He sighed. "How about me and you to the store and I buy you some candy. It's almost time for dinner, but we won't tell dad." That seemed to put a smile on Ariel's face. She leapt from her bed and rushed out the door. "Wait!" Kyle runs after her. "You forgot your coat."

More and more the tension bubbles, Andrews quietly anticipated a lightning bolt occurrence prior to him taking office. Victory was assured for his campaign - so much, the outgoing consul admitted to it to the media. But Andrews was in an inevitable position. The majority of the people wanted neutrality. A small, but powerful fraction, loudly called for an alliance with the C.I.S. The rest believed the republic had their best interests at heart. Senator Padme Amidala was an admired honorary citizen of Songin while still the Queen of Naboo. Andrews was scheduled to meet with her today. He never had trouble saying no to anyone. But she was a different story.

"You brought your friend?" Andrew's remarks to the senator. "You know Master Skywalker." She replies. "All too well, I do. You have nothing to worry about, Master Jedi. My guards have everything checked."

"I'm just here as an added bonus." He humbly answers.

"You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know whenever the great Skywalker goes, trouble follows."

"Let's hope this time is different then." He lightheartedly replies. "Don't worry, sir, you're in good hands."

Eager to steer this meeting to its subject matter, Padme began the talks. The least exciting parts of being a "revolutionary", what Andrews fancies himself, is no matter how powerful a politicians rhetoric is, it doesn't sharpen the dullness of the typical business room meeting going over numbers.

"My people won't stand for a draft. Their parents gave up blood for their right to not get dragged into any bureaucratic conflict." Andrews warns Padme it'll bring great strife to reinstitute forced conscription and even drive people towards the Separatists cause. "It'll be counterproductive is what I am saying, senator."

Taking a sip of her tea, she contemplated for a moment. In an effort to make the scene lighter, Andrews offered the idle Jedi a beverage. "What do you drink?" He asks, smiling slightly.

"Me? Oh I don't drink." Anakin swore off the stuff after losing his arm in battle when battling vicious hangover from the night before. "Me and liquor don't have a good history."

"Only an unstable individual would say the opposite. But I drink for the same reason I partake in Songin's yearly festivities: for fun."

"What you're missing here, Almon, is if we don't raise an army to repulse the C.I.S, there won't be another generation of your citizenry." Padme didn't know what else card to play besides the dire warning.

"What about your clone army?" Padme fought hard against the formation of the army made from the DNA of a scummy bounty hunter. An army of expendable lives sounds ideal. But to Amidala it allowed the republic to make bad wartime decisions, and for the citizenry to grow lazy and aloof towards the largest conflict in the history of the longstanding Galactic Republic. "The Separatists destroyed our foundries on Kamino. We now have a limit or disposable lives. We need to be more conservative."

"I will not send my people into your meat grinder." Andrew pushes. She shakes her head. "We need jobs, health care and a return to economic prosperity for the common man." The language of populism perplexed Padme, as it did the Jedi Skywalker. The ideology Andrews was expressing is "Syndicalism," revolves around the workers rising against their oppressive bosses and landlords to claim the means they believe have been purposely withheld from them.

"The war is coming to you. It'll consume everything in an instant. Either you adjust and align with the side that's been your ally for over a decade, or take your chances with the other side. The C.I.S will drag every living organism to service."

"And the republic?"

"Unlike them, we take care of our soldiers." Andrews remained skeptical. "I will fight until my last breath to secure the benefits of the soldiers when this conflict is won." She pleads. Andrews tried his best to remain unmoved, seeing if he could get anymore concessions. But Padme held firm. This was her offer. Pick a side, because soon one might be picked for you.

"I'll give you my answer by tomorrow."

Heading to a bar early in the morning is a sure sign your life isn't going the way you intended. While Kyle didn't head down to the pub with the intention of drinking the person he was supposed to talk to is known for mostly being under the influence. Despite being a minor Kyle was able to gain entry by using Grant's name. He was shoved into a booth and forced to wait for his host. He wasn't even offered a drink.

"Kyle!" A hard slap greeted his back making the boy wince. "How long it's been?" The man seated was in his mid-40's, dressed raggedy, oddly his grey hair is neat.

"About six years, Carsen." Kyle answers. "They didn't give you a drink?" Carsen asks. Feeling uncomfortable, Kyle tried to dissuade Carsen from getting up. "Hey! I pay you not to stand around. Any friend of mine comes through those doors they can order whatever they want and put it on my tab." Carsen explains proudly.

Eager to get this train back on the tracks, Kyle asks Carsen what is the job he initially had lined up for his father. "He isn't doing it?" Kyle shakes his head. "Can't. My dad has issues breathing and needs to constantly be hooked up to an oxygen tank." The news seemingly broke Carsen's train of thought. "Wow. I'm sorry, kid. If you guys ever need anything-"

"I appreciate that, I really do. But I'd really like a job to keep a roof over our heads."

"Well, I was expecting your dad to be here today. This job requires someone experienced in... repossession." Kyle raises an eyebrow.

"Repossession?"

"Yeah. If someone isn't paying their loans to the bank, it repossesses the debtor possessions and either holds them as collateral until the debt is paid or decides to use the items as sufficient payment."

"I have a good head on my shoulders. I can do the job." Carsen was unsure. "Everyone thinks that until they get in the thick of it. You're green and I can't risk anything happening to you. Why don't you just work at the bar? I'll pay you good." This wasn't what Kyle was hoping for. But a modest job is better than no job at all.

Carsen could tell Kyle didn't feel comfortable accepting this job. His friends are bartenders. They tell him the hours are long. The customers are unruly, cheap and don't leave tips. "Listen, you're the only person I'll have behind the bar. Hector here is leaving tomorrow. He was assigned to serve in the volunteer corps."

"Volunteer corps?" Kyle noticed the contradiction being assigned to something with the label 'volunteer' in it. "I don't want to get it either. Long story short, the big holiday is coming up. People get depressed, want to drown themselves in liquor and I need someone to serve them the good stuff. I can't do it because I'm always busy."

"Alright." Kyle decided he could afford to be picky. "You can start tonight. Go home and rest up." Carsen tells Kyle. "You're in good hands with me, kid. I promise. I wouldn't put you in harm's way. Me and your dad go way back. He looked after my kids when I couldn't."

"I appreciate that, boss." Kyle didn't know why he instantly began referring to Carsen as 'boss'. It's just a reflex. Carsen notified Kyle he doesn't need to refer to him as 'boss', much preferring to go by his own name.

Tyranus was growing impatient. Tilden dragged his feet. He knew the politician would get cold feet. Never trust a paper shuffler to the job of a Warrior. Though long in the tooth, Tyranus wasn't much for patience. War is fast pace. If you don't adapt and counter, or act decisively, a few moves could cut your chances of victory by half. Tyranus decided it wasn't worth waiting on Tilden to grow a backbone and called in his riskier, dirty, but more decisive.

"Do you even know how to make drinks?" Chester sat on Kyle's flimsy bed, relaxed tossing a ball high up until it hit the ceiling. "Could you stop that?" Kyle demanded. "The neighbors are going to hear. And no, I don't."

"So what are you going to do when someone asks for whiskey and soda?" Kyle looked at him like he was crazy. "I'll do that. Do you even know a complicated drink recipe?"

"Do you?"

"No, but I don't have to."

"I don't see why you can't just work at the flea market."

"Because, again, we don't have the money to rent from there anymore. We're on the verge of being evicted!"

"You guys could always stay with me." Chester offered, which did warm Kyle's heart. "I appreciate it. But you know I can't do that. I have to keep my family here. Besides, the smell of oil makes Ariel dizzy."

"What about my friend Ramon?" Chester remembers. "What about him?" Kyle asks. "He has a job that can make you real good money real, real quick."

Kyle thought for a moment. "I can't risk getting arrested. On Songin a record ruins lives." Chester understands and drops the subject entirely.

"So how am I supposed to run the stand now? It's not like I have 800 credits lying around." The last thing Kyle wanted was another concern on his plate. But looking at Chester and his sullen expression, he couldn't help himself. "I'll try to see what I can do to earn more on the side." Chester's mood was lifted, expressing deep gratitude for Kyle's generosity. They pull each other in for an embrace.

"You ever thought this is how we'd spend our teenage years?" Chester asks. "No. I thought I'd be a Jedi at this point." Chester laughs. "I miss being young and having wild, unattainable dreams." Kyle feigns being insulted. "Speak for yourself. I still possess the ability to manipulate the Force." Chester couldn't contain his dismissiveness. "Oh, big strong man. He can move a cup from one side of the table to another."

"Man, fuck you." Kyle says halfheartedly. "I gotta go. You can stay here if you want for the night."

"Nah. I gotta get home. Tianna will be home alone if I don't."

"Your mom's out of town?"

"Always. It's nothing but business, business, business. When she is home, it's bills, bills, and more bills." Their sullen expressions returned. Suddenly, they felt a tremendous weight on their backs. "Being an adult sucks."

They could complain all they want. But nothing can stop the forever march of time. Kyle went against all his better judgement and rushed out the door to begin his first shift at his new job. Funnily, he didn't tell his father about it until the last minute for fear he'd say no. Grant never liked his kids out of the house late. Kyle believes it's better to ask for forgiveness to permission. You're far more likely to gain the former, than the latter.

The Jedi didn't really know what to do next. Word returned to them of Almon's uncommitted stance who to ally with. Anakin was sent to accompany Padme to act as the chancellor's mouthpiece. To persuade the incoming consul only if Padme's diplomatic attempts fell on deaf ears. Skywalker did not know if aggression was the correct path to achieve the desired ends. It was a shocking omission of the idea of consequences from the usually thoughtful chancellor.

"What's the matter, Annie?" Padme saw her husband deep into thought. He hasn't said a word since they landed on Songin last night. "I just can't fathom how someone can play no part in this conflict. You said it yourself, the war is coming here no matter what the consul decides."

"We'll just have to be patient. When Almon makes the right choice the republic will be ready in an instant to assist him." Padme assures Anakin. She places her hands on his shoulders, then moving them to his neck to kindly rub the skin.

"But what if something demands our attention and we have to divert forces there?" Anakin's mind was racing. Filling to the brim with scenarios. It wasn't his best mental days, he'd admit. One thing he's never even considered, this is the first time in four months him and Padme have been alone together.

"We've adapted before, we'll do it until this war is won. What did the Jedi say?" Usually, senators aren't supposed to know the discourse inside the Jedi Order. But having her own little informant, she couldn't resist asking. And Anakin was all too happy to deliver. Padme is an amazing politician and if only the Jedi weren't so secretive this war could be run more efficiently.

"They don't trust the chancellor. He wants the Jedi to get involved regardless of what the consul says." This reminded Skywalker he needed to contact the council. As the Chancellor's representative on the council, Skywalker technically has two bosses to report to. Anakin left Padme's chambers, careful to avoid detection from potential onlookers, and returned to his ship parked idle close by. His mind did race with some conflict. He felt a kinship with the chancellor. It seemed the only person consistently on his side since he arrived on the Jedi doorstep was Palpatine.

"Anakin" Obi-Wan Kenobi answered the call. Makes this talk somewhat easier. Kenobi isn't such a stiff like Mace Windu. He'll let Anakin leave some details out because of his trust for his former apprentice. "Almons remains unsure whether to join the republic or to side with the C.I.S. He wishes to remain neutral." Obi-Wan didn't really have a taste for this kind of complex politics; neither did Skywalker. Kenobi assumes it's best to remain on Songin to protect Almon. "The outgoing consul has evaded us. I worry something horrible is in the works. Be mindful."

"I will, master." When the transmission ends, Anakin immediately dials up the chancellor to submit his report. He felt more at ease when discussion the affair with someone wise like Palpatine. What the Jedi lacked in the political arena, Palpatine excelled in. In some ways, he's superior to Padme in that regard.

"Chancellor" Anakin wanted to remain cordial and respectful, though he's been told it was unnecessary. "Anakin, what a pleasant surprise." Palpatine wasn't really expecting Anakin to contact him so soon. "I hope nothing's gone awry?"

"Perhaps." Anakin was unsure. "Almon wants to remain neutral. We have not been able to reach Tilden."

"I suspect Tilden has resigned to the fact his career is winding down." Palpatine says nonchalantly. "We should focus on Andrews. What about the Jedi?"

"They don't know what to make of the situation." Anakin answers.

"Well, what do you think?" Anakin hated being asked about political matters. It used to give him a confidence boost when the chancellor started doing it. Now it comes across like homework.

"I think Andrews is in trouble. We need to give him more protection. I have a feeling."

"You being a Jedi, I will be sure to take your hunches seriously. I will look into sending you assistance. There is a small group of rebels, they lean on the republic side. I think it would be a good idea to train them."

"Give me what I need and I will have it done for the republic."

"Thank you, Anakin. I truthfully don't know what I'd do without you."

Hassan didn't want to get out of bed. He felt all too cozy. But the incessant knocking kept him from returning to slumber. Tensions reaching a boiling point, Hassan rushed to the door in a huff to find a Togruta staring up at him in contempt. "You missed a session."

"I'll catch the next one." He replies like he's referring to missing the bus. Hassan looks at his watch, it was time to take his pills. Ahsoka wanted to ask what the capsules were for, but thought better of it. "Kairi sent me to come get you." Ahsoka tells him. "Why would that make a difference?" He tries to close the door, but she would not let him. "Since the council has deemed you unworthy to be assigned a master, they've explained to me it's my duty to train you."

Hassan scoffs. "You? You sure they're not just tired of looking at you."

"Get dressed. It's time you practice deflecting blaster shots."

"I do just fine in that category." He tells her. "Last time you did the drill your tunic caught on fire." Hassan stops to recall the event. "Oh, yeah. Well, I was out the night before and still a little groggy. So that wasn't my best night." He gives her the slimiest smile.

"That reminds me, the council ordered your room to be closer to mind to monitor your... extracurricular activities." She explained, finding it difficult to find a better word. Hassan looked at her, staring harshly into her blue eyes for a moment before relenting. They assigned him a nanny. The Jedi must have high hopes for him they are willing to put up with so much.

Working at the pub wasn't really bad. The music was cool, the people tipped well and the violence was kept to a relative minimum. Kyle enjoyed conversing with patrons who weren't already drunk off their behinds. Before leaving to run an errand, Carsen told Kyle it's only acceptable to give someone a free drink if they are attractive and willing to give you their number. Kyle honestly felt that a bit degrading for both parties involved, but his curiosity peaked. Carsen did appear to have a way with the ladies. Either because his bank account was impressive or he spun a good yarn is debatable.

"Hey, Kyle" someone at the end of the bar calls out. Assuming he wanted a refill he heads over. "How much you want to bet I can shoot this piece of trash into the bin over there?" Kyle looks behind him. "You mean the tip jar?" The man nods. "Uh... I dunno. Two credits?" Obviously, this poor soul was under the influence. He giggled madly, like he's just heard the funniest joke ever told. "Two?!" His eyes widen. "How about five hundred?"

"I don't even have 100 hundred." He said, but the man remained persistent. "You have an awful lot in that cash register there." He points to it. Kyle frantically shakes his head. "No." He begins to walk away, but his arm is grabbed and is subjected to a rough hold. "Sounds like you're a little low on funds. Imagine how easier it would be to feed your starving pockets?" A couple of his friends rose from their chairs and crowded the bar. They towered over the comparatively small Kyle. Thinking, he tried to come up with a witty retort that would get him out of this fresh as a daisy. Like those shows he used to watch. The dimwitted adult outsmarted by the brainy child. It was at this very moment Kyle realized what he's been told by entertainment was all lies.

"Alright." He croaks. The man couldn't hear him. He reaches over the bar cupping his ear. "Alright!" He says louder. Before he could even get the funds from the register the man made the shot with little to no difficulty and they commenced hooting and hollering in a manner which broke Kyle's eardrums. But he had bigger concerns. He just compromised his standing with his new boss. In a panic, he rushed to Alf, the busboy, and asked him to takeover for a bit.

Kyle went to the back and paced madly. His body froze, as did his mind. How could had he been so careless? This wasn't something he could call his father and expect to get him out of the red. He was on his own. An idea dawned on Kyle. It was desperate and high risk. But he would do almost anything to keep this job he liked very much.

"Chester, does Ramón need my help?" Within the hour he was in the backseat of a speeder, the passenger was loading up his pistol and hands another to Kyle. Turns out his assistance was needed to help deliver weapons to an underground band of fighters. For what side, Kyle wasn't sure. But he didn't care. He couldn't afford to. "Things might get hairy. I need you to keep a cool head." Ramón warns. "Do you sense anything? A tremor or something?" Kyle replies no. "Let me know if there's anything I should worry about."

The speeder halts by the river. A small ship lands and soon two men walk out dragging a large crate. Ramón walks out holding a briefcase. Kyle was about to exit, but Ramón told him to remain inside and have his sights readied on the two men he was meeting.

Ramon was tall, looking beyond his age of 21. His clean cut facial hair gave him a distinguished appearance. Only reason he was trusting a teenager to watch his back is Kyle was a Force-sensitive. "That's them. Kyle, all we're doing is purchasing weapons. If things go wrong, you watch our backs. You're a good shot, aren't you?" Kyle wasn't one to brag, but he did learn to shoot straight thanks to his father taking him to the gun range when he was a child.

The two sides met, each with little interest in conversing. Kyle watches his sights aimed squarely above Ramon's shoulder. Tempers looked to be heating up, the man went up and spit in Ramon's face before pushing him to the ground. The man went into his vest, appearing to retrieve a weapon. Without hesitation, acting on the sudden surge of adrenaline, Kyle took the shot and winged the would be killer in the shoulder. He was immediately greeted by return fire. They probably would have hit him if they weren't ambushed and killed within seconds. Ramon picked himself back up and rushed to the speeder, gunshots still ringing out. His men dead, his only protection a 16-year-old kid. Ramon speeds away with Kyle in the backseat afraid to poke his head up for fear of being hit.

"You can lift yourself up now." Ramon explains they lost them. "I'll do it when I get home." Ramon sighs. "After what happened, I'm putting you in one of my safe houses. Stay there for a day or two until the heat dies down. I'll call your father and tell him your staying with Chester." Kyle wanted to protest, but Ramon was right. Couldn't risk bringing his family into this mess. Why did he take that bet?

"What are you going to do?" Kyle asks. Ramon takes a second to reflect. "I'm sorry I got you into this. Tomorrow we'll start sorting this out so you can go home."

Hassan found this all ridiculous. Deflecting blaster bolts is a boring enough. To do it while balancing oneself on a beam facing fire from two different sides is an extraordinary situation he doubts he'll ever find himself in. "Ahsoka, I have to say you wouldn't make for a good teacher."

"Oh?" She pretended to care.

"Do you even remember how Anakin trained you?" She didn't answer, she merely programmed the droids to fire rapidly at Hassan. To her surprise, he managed to redirect the fire back and avoid harm. "You're very talented." She told him. "If you didn't talk so much, dare I perceive you as also intelligent."

"Gimme more fire and I'll so you."

"Brawn and brain are mutually exclusive." She points out.

"Lemme know when you practice what you preach. How that turns out." Ahsoka never was one to "use the Force, think" as Obi-Wan puts it. Similar to Skywalker, she's headstrong and lacks discipline. Fortunately, for Skywalker, his talent and amazing luck allows him to continue this unmediated brash behavior. Tano was born lucky and as commander she frequently needed the help of the older, more grizzled veterans in the Jedi Order to essentially hold her hand through the ordeal.

"Why don't you go out in the battlefield once in a while and tell me the correct way to act?" She retorts, losing her calm. "Why?" He scoffs. "So I could fail, lose a province and fail thousands of people whose life fell into my hands?"

"What about the clones?"

"Eh. They'll make more of them."

Kyle spent the next dozen hours unable to sleep and constantly monitoring his com-link. Things have gone from bad to worse so fast he almost suffered whiplash. The safe house was in poor shape. A mildew slipped down the walls, Kyle didn't know if it was slime or mold, and he didn't want to find out. His curiosity got the best of him as he decided to explore the apartment and found various papers haphazardly stuffed in a drawer.

"Military papers? Ramon tried to join the army?" The face value of the premise was enough for Kyle to chuckle. Then, he saw it wasn't just Ramon. But Chester, and there other friend Meyers. Meyers was drafted into service, due to his birth on a planet in Galactic Republican territory. He didn't last a week before biting the dust during a raid on Felucia. The republic is just so giddy to throw their youth into the meat grinder. Meyers was the only one given his service papers. Ramon and Chester seem to have applied. Why would they want to fight in The Clone War?

A knock interrupted his reading, he rushed to his blaster placed on the nightstand. "Who is it?" He asks, feigning a feminine voice for a reason he could not articulate. "Open up, K." Judging by the tone of voice, it's Ramon. He let him in, wearing the same awful, messy clothes from the night before.

"Okay, so I spoke to Dedric-"

"Dedric?"

"The man who gave us the money to buy weapons." Kyle had no idea of the details of the job. He kept himself ignorant so in case he got caught he wouldn't be tempted to rat. If those gangster movies he watched taught him anything is it's always a dire end for the rat. "He says this was likely done by a rival gang." Kyle needed to restrain himself from expressing an inordinate amount of sarcasm.

"So what does he want you to do?"

"He wants YOU to find who did it."

"What? Okay, I'll get right on that."

"I'm serious. Dedric believes this is your fault. So you have two options, deliver him the weapons we lost. Or, find the person who did it." Ramon looked at ease once he said this. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"How am I supposed to do either of those things?" Kyle was holding out hope Ramon was playing a sick, cruel joke on him. Ramon shrugs "Don't know. But let me know when you do." After a brief silence, Kyle decided he had every right to ask this question. "Are you trying to join the army?"

"Army? Me, join? Please. I was drafted and on the run for months." Ramon explains.

"Then who needs the weapons?" Ramon didn't answer. He was extremely coy "The Galactic Republic 'paid him the most.' The point is, if you don't figure out a way to pay him back, he'll have you killed. If he can't find you, he'll likely get your family involved."

"Only way he'll know where they are is if you tell them." Kyle puts two and two together. "Thanks, pal." Kyle leaves slamming the door behind him. Last night he lost a job he very much liked, today he's on the verge of losing everything. Outside Ramon chases him down looking to offer one last bit of assistance before bidding Kyle a farewell on his treacherous journey. "Rumor has it, the Jedi are training an underground force where the radioactive colony is."

"They're practicing on a radioactive site?" Kyle would rather die than risk the disgusting mutations that comes with dabbling with radiation. "Protesters forced the construction of the plant to be put on indefinite hiatus. So you're not going to grow a third arm from your forehead. They're expecting you. Tell them Dedric sent you."

At least Kyle could scratch one worry from his long list of concerns. He was alone, left without much hope. But now has a destination in mind.

Sending troops to train fighters on Songin turned out to be a harder sell to the Jedi than to the overpacked senate. The Jedi Council votes unanimously against sending resources and manpower to Songin. They weren't an official republic ally and weren't given clearance by the government to do such a thing. Palpatine sent Skywalker as his personal envoy along with Amidala. Within days, he announced the Jedi were assisting the fighters in case of any C.I.S uprising. The Jedi proved to be very bad at the public relations game, curtly stating they agreed to no such thing. All over Coruscant's news stations anchors hyped up the division between the Jedi and the republic's political body. In reality, Skywalker was the only Jedi to go to Songin. He wasn't allowed to bring his Padawan, that's where the council drew the line.

"We hope the Jedi and the Galactic Republic they have sworn to defend will unite in this trying time." Palpatine spoke clearly during a press conference. "I trust Master Skywalker will not overstep his bounds. This is merely a precautionary measure to protect the freedom of Songin to determine its own fate."

"Did you talk to Almon Andrews?" One reporter asks.

"I plan to speak to him today." He answers, then ends the presser without allowing for follow ups. He gave his message. There's no need to sit and let people poke holes all day. Little did they know he had little interest in contacting the incoming consul.

"Mr. Andrews, it is time to go." Andrews hasn't taken his eye away from the window. Throngs of people equipped with torches and weapons yearning for blood. "Where did they come from?" Andrews thought to himself. Aghast at what personified in front of him in such a short time. "Damn the military." Andrews sighed. If it weren't for Padme offering asylum, Andrews' fate is in the hands of the mob waiting outside his door.

She didn't want to leave. The planet was on fire. A fire slowly consumes Songin inch by inch. The people have grown unpredictable. The ones with sense are rapidly being silenced. She wanted to fight for them, to keep them alive. But she could only get one person out. Leaving him to join a ragtag force of undeveloped fighters just paints a target on their backs. For now, it's best to maximize the brief time they have of anonymity.

"The chancellor wants me to stay." Anakin tells her. Whenever he suspects they aren't alone, he speaks to her in this rigid monotone voice.

"I know."

"The old man took too long." Anakin couldn't resist letting his angst be known to Padme. "If he had an atom of fortitude we'd-"

"He wants to do what's best for his people. They don't want war, he did everything in his power to keep them out." Padme cuts him off. "Not everything is black and white, Annie."

"Here, take this." He hands her a pistol. "Protect yourself." She tells Skywalker she's already armed. Past attempts on her life have made her paranoid. "I'll be back." She promises. Anakin shakes his head. "No. I want you to stay on Coruscant."

Padme remained defiant. It wasn't her nature to stay out of a fight. Not one for starting them, she was the type to finish them. She restrained herself to protest. Smiling, she told Anakin she'd "listen" and left him skeptical.

Kyle searches far and wide for the town called "Ether." While wandering he mentally cursed himself for wasting his life never once learning to read a compass. He left his com-link at the safe house to avoid detection from the confederacy.

Kyle's stomach groans. It's been a while since he's eaten. The harsh wind producing goosebumps on his bald head in the midst of regrowing it's blonde mane. On Songin, the weather fluxgates so frequently Kyle never thought it be wise to pack accordingly. Even if he did, imagine lugging a pair of seasonal clothing around? Words couldn't describe the utter contempt Kyle held for Songin. The streets were dirty. The people were awful. The tap water was polluted. Songin was a waste. Kyle wished the Mandalorians have come and taken this backwater hellhole over. Except, they probably want nothing to do with them. All Songin possess worthy or any importance is battery deposits to power droids and manpower to build weaponry and battleship.

His movement was suddenly halted. His legs stiffened. "What happened?" He wondered, figuring he must've stepped on a very sticky substance on the ground. He looks down to see his legs tied up and an electro shock surging up his body rendering him powerless as he convulses on the ground. Instantly he was piled on and beaten, then propped up, eyed by a woman before being patted down. After she disarms Kyle, then speaks.

"Tion'ad are gar?" Kyle stares at her befuddled. She motions to a basic speaking minuteman to translate. "Who are you?"

"I'm working for Dedric." The basic speaker translates Kyle's words back to the Mandalorian. She signals for her people to loosen their grips. "Yesterday a shipment of weapons with your name on it was stolen by an unknown gang. I'm sent here to help you find them."

"Oh, and what use are you to us?"

"I have a history with these people. I know a few on the inside. If you help me, I can find the shipment and make sure they don't steal from you again. But I'm going to need corporation."

From this point the basic speaking gentleman took over the conversation, acting as the vessel for the leader who could only speak Mando. "We heard and we're not too with happy Dedric."

"I'm not here to mediate your litigation. I'm here to help you get your stuff back."

"Right. My name is Jabaal. Her name is Becky."

The Mandalorian speaks to the basic speaker, whispering into his ear. "There's another arms dealer on Songin. He and Dedric have long been rivals. His name is Hunter Haynes. If anyone knows what happened to the weapons, it's him."

"Where can I find him?"

"I'll help you find him." A blue skin Twi'lek walks forward. The Mandalorian woman allows this. "Somebody has to keep this stranger in check. See if he's legit." The Mandalorian nods. "Bailey will help you find Hunter. She'll drive."

"Do not give him his weapon until you're absolutely sure he can be trusted." Bailey is told.

"You expect me to make that can of judgement on one short drive?"

"Take the long way, maybe you'll hit traffics talk to him. Remember the last guy?"

"The last guy had CIS written all over him. I tried to tell you. You and Becky thought we needed to take a risk. Look where that landed us."

"Which is why I'm asking you to be careful. The Jedi are finally helping us. Not only do we not have weapons to train our soldiers, we don't have the track record that'll inspire them to have confidence in us."

"If you two finished are talking, I'd like to get Dedric's stuff back so I can go home." Kyle chimes Inc earning himself an elbow to the back of his head.

The drive, however, was silent. Kyle went into his sleeve pocket pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a light. He had just one stick left. His dad was the smoker in the family. Kyle was more of a recreational user. "That's disgusting." Bailey uttered her first words to Kyle. "Don't light it."

"I'll open up a window." He lights his stick up and took one big, relaxing breath of fresh nicotine air. "Aren't you a teenager?" Even though Bailey is young herself, the habit is very revolting. "My dad's a smoker-" She interrupts "Don't blame your family for your cancerous addiction."

"You know what my family did?" Kyle shrugs. "Fought on the WRONG side of every war. Do you think that's where I am right now?"

"One: there isn't a war going on. Two: only if you think you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you've suddenly started telling me your life story when all I want to do is smoke."

"So that's all you want to do?"

"Yes." Just then the speeder stiffened, a gasket burped and black smoke escaped through the back engine. Bailey curses. "Sounds like your speeders' in bad shape. Don't worry, I know a guy not too far from here. Only problem is, one of us has to push this piece of junk to the finish line."

By the end of the hour, Kyle's arms shook like jelly, his breathing couldn't have been more in peril. "How you're doing, love?" Bailey asks. Kyle could see her sinister smile in the rear view mirror.

"Chester!" Kyle bangs on the door of the garage. He knows they're open. Recent incidents of arson have made them less than eager to show it. "Your pops opens up, but wants to keep it secret. Kind of redundant, hey, Chest?" Kyle says.

"He's sick, Kyle. So we aren't open. What do you want?" Judging by the looks of things, Chester was in the middle of sleeping in. "I need you to open up. I need your assistance."

Hassan felt like his limbs were about to detach from his body. Ahsoka ran him through the meat grinder with little remorse. This is the doing of Kiari. Hassan knows this. She's been trying to get him in shape for almost a year. Sitting on his bed, swallowing up his daily dose of antiplatelets, he had no clue if his heart could take any more of this stress. His chest started to calm, but he also felt boxed in his quarters. Needing fresh air he ventured out of his hole. Despite the cynicism running through his veins, Hassan couldn't help but crane his neck up to see how high the ceiling of the Jedi Temple is. Such an amazing testament to whoever built this historic artifact.

Hassan's admiration was halted when he overheard conversation between Masters Plo Koon and Obi-Wan. Hassan always admired Kenobi. He dreamed of being his apprentice. If anyone could get his head straight, it was him. Kenobi's face was sullen, almost distraught. Conversely, Koon projected a coolness no matter what was being said. "We made a mistake trusting the chancellor. What-if Anakin is killed and that drags us into the Songin conflict?" Kenobi asks.

"Something tells me that's exactly what he's hoping for." Koon assumed. The Jedi hands were tied. Only way they could wrangle free is getting themselves in another bind.

Kyle waited impatiently for Chester to finish repairing Bailey's speeder. He wouldn't stop asking questions. It began to get on his nerves. Not one to relive past mistakes, Kyle routinely deflected to other topics. All Chester knew was Kyle was in dire need of money and his pride wouldn't allow him to take an out of pocket loan from his friend. Later, Bailey and Kyle did make it to Hunter's compound. She peaked out and saw a booth occupied by three ripped individuals. "Take this, go hold them up and make sure they don't sound the alarm. I'm going to sneak inside and I'll let you know when it's time to get out."

Kyle did as he was told, no snarky comment or facial expression to convey doubt in Bailey's plan. All Kyle wanted to do was untie this knot and go home. Kyle and Bailey kicked in the door and held the guards up, Bailey shot one in the arm, and Kyle discharged every one of them of their weapons. Bailey left soon after. Kyle watched on the monitors Bailey go into stealth mode swiftly eliminating all obstacles in her path without giving up anonymity.

"Who sent you here?" One or them asked. "Was it Petro?" Kyle had no idea who Petro was. Probably a rival gang leader. They were close though. But Kyle wasn't about I announce it was Dedric who sent him.

"You got a call, mate." One of the guards gestures to the other. Their communications station was blinking red. "Go on, answer it." Kyle ordered. The three looked at one another. "Which one are you talking to?"

"Both... wait.. neither. What difference does it make?!" Kyle knew he wasn't being taken seriously. He fired a shot near the foot one of the guards to get them in line. "Hello?" One of the guards answered the call. "It's for you, mate." He says. Kyle takes the calls. "Yah?"

"I got the contraband. Let's load up the speeder and get out. Deal with the guards." Bailey says. Kyle looks at them, huddled together far from their weapons. "Deal?" "Kill them." His eyes widen. "Oh, Bailey these people haven't done anything to warrant that." He pleads for permission not to kill in the coldest of blood. "Fine. Then set your weapon to stun and barricade the doors when you leave."

"You're a good man, kid. Just remember, Hunter will find you and get his retribution."

"Thanks for the warning."

Soon they returned to the camp, Bailey was embraced by her fellow freedom fighters. Delicious with joy at the sight of their weaponry. Just in time too, Jedi Skywalker showed up a little under an hour ago and was beginning to lose hope.

"Hey, kid. Before you go, how about I take you to meet the Jedi?" She offered, figuring the kids must idealize Jedi. Kyle shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'll see you later." He went back to Ramon and got his money. He probably lost his job with Carsen, but at least he can return home without concern. "Good luck in your revolution."

"Good luck in yours." 


End file.
